Ivy on the Walls
by Aeliia
Summary: When Newt decides he finally has had enough of the maze, he knows what he has to do. (Newt's suicide scene)


Ivy on the Walls

Running.

Running was the only thing that kept Newt going. When he ran, he left behind the Glade and everything in it; boys working under the sun, the smell of nature, the delicious meals, and the magic walls that closed every night. Things that made the other boys happy.

Newt hated all of it.

When the first group of about thirty boys had arrived, including Newt and his two closest friends, Minho and Alby, every single one of them had cried at night for at a good solid week. Now, a year later, the blond found himself still shedding a few tears every now and then. It embarrassed him to no end; he was supposed to be strong and tough; a leader to the other boys. The second-in-command of a death trap, not a weak crybaby that was afraid of his own shadow.

He thought about this as he stretched, waiting for the walls to open for the day, signaling the start of the run. He didn't even notice Minho until the other boy was practically in front of him. Only then did he pause his daily stretching.

"I have a feeling today's gonna be different," Minho mused, beginning his own stretches. "I can feel it in the air."

"Shouldn't you be at your own bloody post?" Newt asked, choosing to ignore the comment that weighed heavily in his chest like a pound of rocks.

"Now where's the fun in that, shuck-face?" Rolling his eyes, the blond continued to stretch and tried his best to ignore his friend's rambling mouth. The sudden thought that this would be the last time he would ever see Minho crossed his mind, dragging down his spirits even more.

"Hey, Minho," Newt interrupted the black haired boy's rant about Alby and his shaved head. Minho met the blond's gaze, his eyes turning serious. Newt found himself at a loss of words, not sure what to say that wouldn't sound too suspicious. "Be careful, okay? Don't let the Grievers get your shank butt."

"Man, when did you become my long-lost mother?" he teased. Newt chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his face. Suddenly, the rupturing sound of stone against stone put a halt to their conversation. The walls were opening. Minho began to jog away. "Got to run; literally!" he called as he ran away to take his position. The blond smiled and turned towards the endless chamber of doom before his friend's voice called out to him again.

"And don't you worry about me, shank!" the black haired boy said. "I know they all want this, but I won't those shucks touch it!" he added, pointing to his butt. Waving, he increased his speed to get to his area.

Newt sighed and smiled. Minho was still Minho, no matter what he said to him. Only after today would he know that he his last words to Newt were something about his butt. The blond looked back one more time and saw Alby standing in the middle of the clearing in the Glade, watching the doors open and the Runners taking their positions. He gave a final wave to the leader of the God forsaken place, heard the rumbling of the door finish opening, and took off without another glance.

He ran and ran, never stopping and never looking behind him. Newt was surprised at how blank his mind was; the thought of his impending fate barely even lurking in his conscious. He had long convinced himself that he needed to do it; needed to end his life and go to wherever was waiting for him afterwards. _Maybe this is already hell, _he thought. If it was, then he had nothing to lose.

Except for his friends. His friends had been the things keeping Newt going for the past month, after the thought of ending his life had slipped into his mind. He had thought it out well; burning precious sleeping hours and staying up late thinking about it. The boy decided he didn't want to die by a knife or any other nasty weapon. He thought about injecting himself with the Grief Serum to see if it would have any effect, but decided against it. He had once asked for poison on the supply list—something that he put together every week—but didn't get it.

Newt knew he was running out of options. Not wanting to find himself in the claws and appendages of a Griever either, he didn't know what to do. Not until he tried climbing the ivy on the Maze walls did he get the idea that he stuck with. Now all he had to do was get the guts to do it. Wiping his brow, he continued running the memorized pattern of his section in the endless Maze.

Newt reached the section's end in record time. He hadn't even stopped once, not even to catch his breath. No, he had just kept running. It was the only thing he could do anymore. The blond turned and began to walk back, all of the avoided thoughts from earlier coming back in a pile and threatening to crush his mind. Where would he do it? Did he want people to find his body? Should he wait a few more days?

He quickened his pace, anxiety filling his stomach to the brink. He suddenly felt overwhelmed at what he was planning; could he even go through with it?

"I have to," Newt murmured to himself as he continued walking. He eventually broke out into a run again, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. When he thought he was at least a few miles from the Glade, he stopped. Looking up, he knew this was the place. The ivy was thick and lengthy, towering up and over the walls. There were plenty of places he could climb easily.

Sitting down with his pack, he pulled out a sandwich and bottle of water. Turkey, ham, lettuce, and cheese; his favorite. Newt chewed slowly, only pausing to sip from his water. He stared at the white, puffy clouds above. It left him baffled how it never rained in the Glade, yet there were still clouds. Then again, they _were _in a gigantic maze with mutants trying to kill them every night. The clouds were free, so why couldn't he be? Why did he and the other Gladers have to be trapped here?

It drove him crazy; which was why he was going to make his own way out, whether the Creators liked it or not. He just had one last thing to do.

Grabbing a notepad and pencil from his backpack, Newt began his letter. He reclined against the hard wall and wrote, his handwriting sloppier with each sentence. A pang of sadness hit him and few tears dripped onto the paper before he could stop them, only further reminding him that he was actually going through with this.

Grabbing his pack, the Glader slipped the note into the front pocket where it was sure to be seen; hopefully by one of his friends. Then he began to climb. He gripped a wide vine and hoisted himself up, placing his right foot in a crack on the wall before reaching for another one. Grabbing it, he let himself swing a foot to the left on the new vine, then continued.

_To whoever is reading this,_

_I hope that the Glade will run smoothly without me; I'm confident that it will._

It was slow-going and painful. The ivy ropes burned his hands and charred them red. But still, he kept climbing, urging himself forward.

_Find a replacement for me. Even if I survived this, I would no longer be worthy of being a leader. Make sure the Greenies know their place as well._

He slipped, but regained his footing.

_Tell everybody thanks for everything they've ever done for me. Tell my friends thanks for being there for me, even though I told them lies._

He kept climbing, looking only at the clouds above him, never down.

_I knew we would never escape the Maze, yet I said we would anyways. I'm making my own way out now. I'm sorry for leaving you all behind. I don't want any of you to follow me, though._

Another tear slipped from Newt's eye. He made no effort to wipe it away; he only focused on finding another step to his death.

_To Minho and Alby, my two closest friends: never give up. I know you won't. Give the Creators a piece of my mind if you ever meet them. Let them know what they've done to us._

He had climbed halfway up the wall when he dared to look down. The floor of the Maze seemed impossibly far away. Newt clutched the vine as hard as his hands would let him and felt his legs tremble from the effort of holding his body up. His limbs ached and burned.

_You two were the greatest friends I could ever ask for. I hope that you can forget about me and move on—if forgetting is even possible here. Minho, you kept me going on even my worst days. Alby, you urged me to do better and pushed me on. Thank you both for that._

He looked up at the sky again, watched the clouds float freely in the vast space. He couldn't wait to be able to do that.

_Someday, somewhere, we'll meet again; I'm sure of it. I don't know where that will be, but it can't be any worse than here._

Newt looked down at cracked floor, both his arms and legs trembling. It was now or never.

_You don't know how scared I am. Wish me well and hope I find the place I'm looking for. Live on. All of you._

_Newt_

Newt took a deep breath and closed his eyes, seeing all of the Gladers in his mind. _Live on,_ he thought. _Find a way._

Then he let go of the ivy.


End file.
